


Wide Awake

by Ally147



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 00:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14367375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ally147/pseuds/Ally147
Summary: "The sight of her now, bopping around in their kitchen, darting between steaming pots and pans in just his shirt and a simple pair of cotton panties is better than any other remedy for a long day. In the space between blinks, he’s more alive, more awake than ever."





	Wide Awake

Peeta hasn’t done time in a bakery since he was still in high school, but he doubts he could sleep in past four in the morning if he tried.

Which makes his firm’s late finishes of seven in the evening, at the absolute earliest, that much worse.

He can’t regret the four years he spent at college studying fine art, with another year of honours on top, but he’d known in the back of his mind that it wasn’t going to be the meal ticket his ten-year-old self had dreamed of. He’s lucky he managed to find a job at the end of it at all, that his skills with a brush and canvas could translate to digital with success. 

He’d just never guessed that corporate advertising would be so soul-sucking. And he’s only been there a month.

His laptop bag feels like it weighs a ton, making his body lag low to the right as he hauls his bones up the stairs. Every time he blinks, he worries it could be the last time he does, lest his stinging eyes crust together forever. He’s making the walk up to his and Katniss’ fourth-floor apartment on instinct alone, and he prays their old neighbour, Mags, doesn’t dart out into the stairwell with her tiny dog and trip him up.

He reaches the fourth floor without incident and drags his feet across the faded blue carpet. As he crawls closer to apartment 4H, the scent of a wonderful, garlicky, herby marinara sauce coaxes him away from the doors of death and a little closer to the land of the living. He moans to himself — his tuna melt sandwich at lunch seems so far away now — and jostles his key into the lock, missing four times before he hits his mark and pushes the door open.

Katniss is singing again. He freezes in the doorway, listens in silence; even just him is an insurmountable audience for her. It’s just some cheesy pop song getting beaten to death on the radio, but in Katniss’ warm, sultry voice, it’s a thing to behold. Even the cawing birds outside have stopped to listen.

Peeta hangs his coat on the stand by the door and drops his bag to the floor. He toes off his shoes and slips through their small living room to their even smaller kitchen.

She’s wearing one of his shirts, the one whose back is stained in so much paint he can only just make out the faded red colour it was once before. Now, it’s a hodge-podge of colours from the day they repainted every room in their apartment: pale, pre-dawn violet for the kitchen; dandelion yellow for the bathroom; deep forest green for the living room; soft, sunset orange for their bedroom. When they were done, they’d collapsed onto the drop sheet and painted each other in those colours, long into the night. Peeta swears there’s no more spectacular sight than of Katniss wearing nothing more than paint, sweat, and a sated, dreamy smile.

He wonders if she realised the ideas he'd get from that shirt.

But the sight of her now, bopping around in their kitchen, darting between steaming pots and pans in just his shirt and a simple pair of cotton panties is better than any other remedy for a long day. In the space between blinks, he’s more alive, more awake than ever.

He sneaks up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. Her only reaction is to lean back into him, and set a hand atop his, patting him as though to say he’s nowhere near as sneaky as he likes to think.

He drops his forehead to the place where her neck meets her shoulder and kisses her there, inhales the delicate scent of her honeysuckle soap. “Hey.” 

She arches her neck for him, and he obliges her by dropping soft kisses up and down the length. “Hey. How was your day?”

“All right, I guess. Just… long. Again.” He sighs and lifts his head, kisses her cheek. “But this smells good.”

“Hmm.” She nods. “You left me plenty of pasta to work with this morning.”

“Couldn’t get back to sleep. Had to do something.”

“I guessed.” She spins in his hold so she’s facing him, and wraps her arms around his waist. Her grey eyes are pensive, and she worries her plump bottom lip between her teeth. “God, that place is killing you.”

Peeta shakes his head. “It’s not that bad. It’ll get better soon.” He reaches up and tucks back a loose strand of her hair. “Thank you, by the way,” he whispers. “You’ve been wonderful since this all started. Doing all the cleaning and cooking.” He shoots her a sheepish smile. “I know you weren’t exactly gunning to be a housewife at twenty-three.”

She snorts, glances down at the strip of floor visible between the narrow gap of their bodies. “No one does. And it’s not a big deal; you’d do the same for me.”

“Even so, I appreciate it, and I promise, one day? I’ll make it all up to you.”

“Promise?” Her smile turns wicked as she leans in again and kisses him dizzy. He winds one hand around her neck and the other low on her hips to pull her closer, but her body flush against his still isn’t enough. Her warmth steals over him, chasing away the pain of the day and replacing it with a slow-burning fire that exists just for her. He entertains a quick fantasy of switching off the stoves and hauling her to their room, but the thunderous rumble of his stomach between them has her pulling away from his lips with a bright gasp of laughter.

“Why don’t you go get changed?” she says, still chuckling. “Dinner’s only got a few more minutes.” She sets her hand on his chest and moves as though to push him away, but he catches it with his own and presses a gentle kiss to the centre of her palm.

“I love you, so, so much,” he whispers. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” She smiles, stretches up on her tip-toes to kiss him again. “And it’s pretty lucky for me, ‘cause I kind of love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this little bit of fluff :) I'm ally147writes on Tumblr if anyone wants to chat!


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